The Ruby Slippers
by theimaginaryslimshady
Summary: In which Augustus and Taimon probably are not the best leaders that the group could've chosen and Izzymon has all of the exposition. All of it. [or: an au where the original cast are digimon and their digimon are the digidestined]
1. And So It Begins

The road that leads from New York to Vermont is long and painful; the interstate begins to meld into back roads about a quarter of the way through, and the sudden change from highway to gravel can send any unadapted parties reeling. Headaches are common, expected even, and it's perfectly normal for most cars to pull over multiple times so that its passengers can vomit where it won't hit the upholstery. Its single saving grace is the view out the windows. In the summer heat, everything seems to shudder beneath the weight of the sky, especially once they start cleaving through the mountains.

The view, unfortunately, is not what Augustus Grey is concentrating on, as he's too busy barfing into a bucket. He'd known from the beginning it wouldn't be a pleasant ride. He'd specifically sat in the back of the bus in preparation, as far from the other six New Yorkers as he could manage. He'd even moved everyone else's bags out of the way so that he wouldn't ruin their things. He simply doesn't do well with vehicles that move on the ground, and frankly the quality of the bus he's on is not helping.

He retreats from the scent of vomit as quickly as possible, still heaving drily; something dribbles out of his mouth and he automatically brushes his off with the back of his hand, flailing awkwardly until it falls into the bucket. The tan skin on something vaguely corn-like is a comparison rather than a contrast, which is a little strange seeing as Augustus hasn't been further south than northern Virginia, but considering his parents, the topic of genetics and appearances has never really appealed to him.

At least he's dressed appropriately. The kids up in front of the bus are wearing all sorts of things; one girl is wearing a pink dress that only reaches her knees despite having long, thin sleeves, while, on the other end of the spectrum, one boy is wearing a _fur coat_. Only one other kid is dressed in a hoodie, but while Augustus' is almost black and the hood is pulled up to cover his almost-bald head, the other kid's is bright green with a blank yellow baseball cap to hood his eyes.

It starts to feel surreal. Then reality sets in and he leans forward to vomit again.

"So is that carsickness of yours contagious?" says a voice above him, and he looks up to see a kid with an orange mohawk grinning at him, hands splayed awkwardly on top of his pockets. He has a swimmers build, tall and lean with muscly arms, and like the rest of them he looks entirely unprepared for however cold or warm Vermont may be with a muscle shirt and cargo shorts.

"Um," Augustus begins, mind still back in the bucket with his breakfast. "Excuse me?"

"It was a joke," the boy snorts, shoulders relaxing as his eyes open a little wider. They're a very nice sky blue color, nothing at all like Augustus' own creepy red ones. "And also a subtle request to sit with you, because unlike those boring weirdos, you have an excuse to stay silent the entire trip."

There's a long, awkward pause. "So you want to – "

"Sit down next to you, yes." The boy closes his eyes and his lips form silent numbers. "So please scoot over."

"It smells really bad," Augustus warns. "Like. It is going to make you want to cry. It's _really_ bad."

"I think I'll survive." Mohawk-boy keeps nudging until Augustus finally scoots over fully to the window, and the boy takes a seat just before the bus jerks and the bucket almost goes flying straight at him. He grins again, an image as infectious as a disease – the disease of happiness, Augustus thinks before leaning forward to barf again.

"Maybe summer camp wasn't the best idea for you," the boy suggests when he fully resurfaces, greedily gulping down as much air as he can.

"Normally it's not this bad," he rasps in reply, throat burning. "I thought…I could handle it."

"Clearly you were wrong." Augustus dives back down before coming back up to find his new acquaintance eyeing him. "Alright, now that I've memorized your face I've gotta put a name to it. Who are you?"

He blinks. "Um. Augustus Grey."

"Augustus Grey," the boy repeats, savoring the taste of it on his tongue and stretching the syllables. "God, that's long. You need a nickname. Let's see, let's see, Agu?"

"_No_." His voice flinches from the nickname. Agu is a strictly family pet name for him, and even then it's one of the most embarrassing things anyone calls him.

The other boy snorts, hair tossing idly as his head moves. It doesn't look like it's gelled, which Augustus thinks is probably weird. "Alright, alright. Octavian? After the Roman emperor? No? Alright, how about Gus?"

He pauses to think about it, and then, slowly nods. "Yeah, okay, I can roll with that."

"Glad that I've earned you approval," the boy says, and Gus snorts. "So, Gus, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Gus' stomach still feels weak, but he resists the urge to empty it for the moment. "What about you? Do I get to give you a cool nickname back, or was that out of the generosity of your heart?"

The boy pauses; his head tilts to the right as his impossibly blue eyes ravish the view outside the window. "My name's Zudo Goma," he says finally. "If you can make a nickname out of that, then you'll be the first." He doesn't look away from the window the entire time he says it, eyes only flickering to him once, and his hands clench and unclench into fists where they rest on his shorts.

The surname sounds familiar, but he doesn't know where he recognizes it from, and he's certainly not willing to dwell on it. "Zee?" he suggests, fingers tapping a staccato against the seat. "Or Zoo? Or – do you have a middle name?"

Zudo's shoulders sag, and any guilt Gus might've felt about not remembering the name withers to dust. "It's Ikkaku," he grins, arm hooking casually over the corner of the seat back. He looks Gus in the eyes again, entire face lit up. "Family name or something. Not much you can do with it, either."

"I could call you Icky," he suggests, but before he can catch the look on Zudo's face the bus lurches and he has to lean forward to vomit again.

"Hey, Zudo," a high-pitched voice says from in front of him while he's still nose-deep in the scent of his food, "is he alright? He looks…"

"Like the bus is quickly leading him towards his inevitable demise?" Zudo suggests, voice purposely casual. "Yeah, he's fine. He'll come up again in a minute."

"Is _everyone_ going to come back here now?" Gus tries to demand, but it comes out as more of a weak groan as he leans back against the seat, eyes half-shuttered. Leaning over the seat in front of him is a girl with long blonde hair with a ponytail holder about halfway down, as though it's fallen as they move, though Gus suspects that it's just for aesthetic effect. Her shirt is pink with blues lines zig-zagging across it; she's leaning over the seat just enough that he can see her jeans, which are baggy and old. Her chin tilts up defiantly even when she's staring down at him, and her cheekbones are high, with a skin color a few shades darker than the girl from New York Gus knows is descended from Cherokees.

"Nah, I'm not that popular," Zudo hums. "Bird, this is Augustus Grey. Call him Gus."

"Hello Augustus Grey Call Him Gus," Bird greets with a small smile. "My name's Garuda Pyo. Call me Bird."

"Um, right." Nobody comments on the way Garuda is a boy's name for someone who is very clearly a girl. Gus connects the dots and keeps quiet. "Nice to meet you, Bird. So you two know each other…?"

"We came to camp last year," Zudo elaborates; his leg jitters up and down, rocking just barely behind the beat of the bus. "Only two guys from New York. You learn to tolerate each other. Speaking of," he tacks on, "isn't your brother coming up this year?"

"Yeah, now that he's old enough," Bird smiles, jerking her head over her shoulder; Gus' eyes travel where she motioned and quickly land on the back of a tiny kid's head, his hair just a few shades redder than Bird's, though he can't see any more than that and his tan hands gesturing wildly to the tall girl with the dress, who's nodding empathetically. "It was two and a half months last year instead of just two, so our parents thought he wasn't ready to be away from home for that long."

"Yeah – Patrick, right?" Zudo says. His eyes carve patterns into Gus' skin as he waits for a response, and the tan boy suddenly hunches forward once more, this time in part to escape the curious gazes of these people he doesn't know. Also because they are currently in the mountains. He shudders against the cold metal rim pressing up on the edge of his shirt.

"We call him Pat," Bird nods in assent, and the scenery out the window begins to change.

+x+

The thing about summer camps is that, all too often, the people in charge group together and decide that since this is a Natural Setting of Nature, there shouldn't be any electronics allowed. Equally as often, every single camper ignores this rule, up to and including the counselors in rank. It's a conundrum, not 'problem' enough to require people to find a solution, but not 'quirk' enough to be pushed aside and ignored.

Camp File, thankfully, does not have this issue. The kids are staying for two months. _Of course_ there are electronics allowed.

The robot leaning against the back wall of the cabin seems a bit like overkill, though.

"How long do you think it's been there?" Gus marvels, stuffing his notebook of songs haphazardly beneath the pillow without looking away from the window strategically placed next to his bed. The New York bus was one of the first to arrive, so the seven students there have had their choice of beds – but not, unfortunately, of cabins, as those had been pre-picked by the camp staff. Zudo was given the cabin across from Gus', and in a stroke of luck someone from New York _is_ sleeping next to him, though the teen has yet to look up from his iPod.

Still, he takes a curious glance over Gus' shoulder, a single eyebrow rising as he takes in the metal man beneath them. "It doesn't have much dust on it," he frowns. "I think." Gus leans away slightly so that the other boy can scoot in to see better, and takes the kid in for the first time. He's about Gus' age, black-skinned, and almost completely covered in clothes, between the yellow baseball cap covering his hair, the oversized green hoodie his hands are stuffed into the front pocket of, and the jeans about twice his size. They all look cheap and sloppy, and they shine as if they're made out of plastic. The most striking thing about his appearance, though, is his eyes, which are wide and green, more innocent than the eyes of any child Gus has ever seen. "Maybe I could go take a look at it or something."

"Sounds awesome," Gus agrees amicably, nodding as if he knows exactly what to do when one finds a robot outside of their cabin at summer camp. The teen backs off from the view before turning and slowly walking out the door, tossing a couple of glances over his shoulder. Gus leans across the bedpost to glance (very discreetly) at the nametags they'd been passed out.

_Kabuteri Tent_, the other boy's reads on top of a blanket patterned with different types of bugs.

"I can still see you, you know," the slightly nasal voice coughs; Gus shrieks and almost falls over trying to see the dark-skinned teen in the doorway, who looks as if he's hiding a smile beneath the cover of his baseball cap. "If you wanted to know my name, you could've just asked." He lets his arm slide down the doorframe before stuffing his hand back into his jacket pocket. "Anyway, that's not what people call me. I'm Terry. Not Kabuteri. Nobody knows me by that."

"It's…nice to meet you, then, Terry," Gus offers, cocking his head and smiling hesitantly. "I'm Augustus Grey. Call me Gus."

Terry watches him for a moment before his face splits into a grin. "I know. I saw your name tag earlier." Before the tan boy can offer any retaliation Terry's gone, sneakers shuffling through the glance as he makes his way around the large wooden cabin. Gus makes a face at the door before turning to fold spread out his sheets.

That is, until he gets barreled over by what looks to be a horse.

It's a miniature horse, but very clearly not a pony; it can lie on Gus' stomach easily without straining to make itself smaller. Its skin is pure white, without even a speck of dust to suggest it'd just barreled through an entire campground and almost into the wall, while its brown mane is wild and badly groomed. It snorts, throws its head back, and whinnies, clopping on the ground next to where Gus has fallen. He figures it's only a matter of time before what's being stomped on is his head, so he rolls off to the side before standing, holding out his hands to try to call down the animal before him. "Easy boy!" he says out loud, voice deliberately calm. He desperately avoids checking whether or not the horse is actually a boy. "It's okay. We're all friends here. It's okay."

The horse seems to respond; it at least stops thrashing around long enough for Gus to see the circular blue markings around its eyes. "That's it," Augustus soothes, secretly pleased with his own animal-calming skills.

The horse proceeds to open its mouth and loudly neigh, "Are you a digimon? Where's Izzymon? Why am I a horse! When did I digivolve?"

Gus stares blankly.

Then he turns to his bed, stuffs his face into the pillow, and shouts obscenities into the fluff.

+x+

**A/N (NOTE: A/Ns are rated T because I cuss a lot. Sorry.)**

have you ever been going about your regular day and suddenly thought "HAHA REMEMBER THAT ONE CHILDRENS SHOW MAN WOULDNT IT BE FUNNY IF I WROTE A FIC ABOUT IT" and then youre like "HA I EVEN HAVE AN IDEA" and then suddenly the idea becomes like a fucking novel or some shit and you have to actually rewatch the show so that you can get all the characters right

because thats what happened with this fic

so yeah! though i have a general idea of where the story would go if i ended up doing the entire Digimon Adventure and Digimon Adventure 02 seasons, what i have elaborate plans on right now is what digimon itself was planned to be in the beginning, which is a thirteen "episode" arc. so unless i either cant bear to let the story go when the time comes to finish or it becomes mega popular (which is frankly not very likely), im going to end this about where the show wouldve ended if devimon had been the final boss. (seeing as itll take multiple chapters per "episode" youll probably still be stuck with me for 20+ chapters)

so the basis is the same: tai, matt, sora, izzy, joe, mimi, and tk are all sent to a different world for destiny purposes. theyre just. digimon. this will be elaborated upon through the rest of the story.

if you have any questions about why i did something the way i did with the characters, or if you think my characterization is wrong, feel free to drop me a line! im always happy to explain or improve.


	2. And So It Begins Pt 2

Gus is still planning his will when the horse finishes freaking out and begins to nudge his shoulder mournfully, a full two or three minutes after it's arrived in the cabin. "So what _are_ you?" the animal asks, apparently giving up on braying about…Iggymon. And Mattmon. And Soarmon, maybe? Gus still isn't entirely clear on what he's talking about, and names like that are hard. "And where are we? You do know, right?"

_Tavita definitely gets my room_, he decides before rolling over to stare at the ceiling, counting the knots in the boards that slant across it. "I am a human. We are at a summer camp in Vermont. You are a hallucination, which probably means I'm really sick, which probably means I'm dying. So thanks for the warning, I guess."

"Where's Vermont?" the horse asks cluelessly before it processes the full statement and its eyes narrow. "Hey, I'm no hallucination! I'm just as real as you are!"

"Said the talking horse," Gus points out, shutting his eyes in an attempt to block off his mind. His blanket itches angrily beneath him; he's reaching down to shift it over when the creaky iron bed begins to rattle and he's thrown to the side. "Hey!" he protests, instinctively reaching up to clutch the bars at the end of the bed, sending a wild look down to where the horse is headbutting the bedpost. "What the hell?"

"Do" – the horse manages through grit teeth, shoving up against the bed between each word – "you – believe – I – exist – _now_?"

"Yes, okay, I believe you, just _stop_!" Gus screeches, wincing at the shrill tone of his own voice. Luckily, the animal seems satisfied, lifting up its head to watch its new acquaintance, still pouting. "Jesus. How are you so strong? You're like half my size."

The horse's face brightens, puppy dog expression receding with eagerness. "It's 'cause I digivolved!" he says eagerly, tromping around a little, accidentally knocking over a lava lamp Terry was setting up earlier in the process. Gus sits up, wincing slightly at what's undoubtedly a bruise formed on his back from the beating against the bed. "That's when I get stronger and have more energy," it adds, misinterpreting Gus' expression completely. "I change names too…I was Chimon before. Now I'm Taimon!"

"Um, right," Gus allows. At least now he has a name for the strange creature frolicking between the beds. _Taimon? Why doesn't it just call itself Tai?_ "Does your name, uh, mean anything, or is it just kind of…?"

Taimon pauses at that, doing the best impression of chin-scratching he can with hooves and no recognizable chin. "I don't know what Tai means," he mutters, clopping nervously on the wooden floor, "but mon is something that all Digimon have at the end of their names. I don't – " The horse brightens abruptly. "Izzymon probably knows! Man, we gotta go find him!" It tosses its wild brown mane, and the blue spots around his eyes seem to glow in the dim cabin light. "And all the other guys! I mean, I guess they're here too…"

"Digimon?" Gus backtracks, pressing his wrist to the forehead and squeezing his eyes shut a few times. The weary mattress creaks as he leans forward on it, rolling circles around his eye with the heel of his hand. "What – how – ?" He forces a deep breath, reaching up to run a hand through his hair before remembering the buzz cut and forcing his fingers back down to clench into the blanket. "Okay. First things first: who's…Izzymon?"

+x+

Bird walks out of the registration office with the bags beneath her eyes a few shades darker than they'd been before, but she's smiling lightly, shrugging her pack further up her shoulder. She hadn't expected the discrepancy – _Elijah should've sorted it out when he made the damn plans_, she thinks, brow furrowed – but even if it took a while, she's in a girl's cabin, and that's the thing to keep in mind here. She chances a glance at the map clutched awkwardly in the edge of her hand. Her cabin is only a few down from here – she should still be able to set up before anyone else arrives to camp.

"Bird!" a tiny voice shrieks, and suddenly she's just a pile of luggage face-first in the dirt. "Bird! I got my cabin! It's super cool, 'cause nobody's there so I got it all to myself. But I can't get the sheets to stay down." Bird winces and rolls over so that she's looking upwards, facing the enthusiastic sixth grader perched on her stomach. "'nd dad said to go to you if I had any trouble, so could you help please? I dunno where any of the counselors are."

Bird manages a smile despite herself. "Pat," she reprimands, "you've put the sheets on your bed before. What's the problem with them now?"

"The mattress is weird," he defends. Patrick Pyo is by far one of the tiniest 11-year-olds Bird's ever seen; his body is almost stick in both size and figure, with a head disproportionately large on top, almost like some life-size bobblehead. It's easy to tell they're siblings, though, from the identically dark skin (Seneca, for any who care to ask, though few people do) and the near-identical blue eyes. His hair is dusted a light ginger, and unlike her, Dad had dressed him up in an outfit entirely of white except outrageous purple boots, which looks, to be frank, ridiculous. "Plus Eli usually helps."

"Elijah's not here," Bird frowns, watching Pat's face fall. Her eyes soften. "I'll help you in a bit, alright? I still have to put my stuff up. Just…go wait in the cabin."

Pat brightens instantly. "Alright!" he laughs, jumping up and offering a hand to help her; she dusts off her jeans before taking it, tugging herself to a standstill and reaching down to hoist her red duffel bag over her shoulder. "Do you want help with your stuff?" he asks, glancing down at the other bag strewn across the ground and grimacing.

Bird purses her lips. She should probably make him help her since it's his fault it all fell in the first place, but… "No, I can get it," she reassures, nudging him in the general direction of the boys' cabins and offering a creaky smile. "You go ahead."

Pat hesitates for a moment, glancing between her and the luggage, before she physically shoos him away. "If you say so," He finally shrugs before taking off in the general direction of the boys' cabin, occasionally making odd noises and flapping his arms. Bird shakes her head, smiling, and bends down to grab her bag, only to be knocked flat on her face once more as something else smacks her straight in the back of the head. "Hey!" she hisses in surprise, flapping her arms wildly before getting another mouthful of grass.

"Oh – sorry, I didn't see you!" a frantic voice manages above her; Bird rolls over and opens her mouth to reprimand whoever it is, but it hangs open without a sound as she takes in the scene before her.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" the hawk-like creature before her pleads, cocking its head and eyeing her with beady red eyes. Though most of its feathers are orange-red, with a smattering of yellow throughout, its entire head seems to be made up of the color blue, with white fringing the edges. Its wings, wide things that span at least the height of her shin each, gently gust wind to keep it afloat. "I'm not used to this place, or this body, and I just – have you seen any of my friends around? They're all…" It makes a vague gesture with its head, invisible eyebrows creasing. "Well. They're all…like me? But not exactly like me. I'm really sorry!"

"Um," she interrupts, blinking. "What _are_ you, exactly?"

"Oh!" It sends the shell-shocked girl an apologetic grimace. "I'm Soramon. I'm a Digimon. I don't suppose…you know where we are?" Soramon tacks on hopefully at the end.

Bird speaks without meaning to. "We're at summer camp in Vermont. Planet earth," she adds, because aliens do not seem like such a foreign concept now. Before she can debate that particular idea for any longer, something tiny and technological drops into her lap, and she blinks before sitting up straighter, leaning her weight on her right elbow as she reaches up to grab it. "What…?" she mumbles under her breath before turning it over and over in her hand. It looks like some sort of square gaming device, with a screen with words written in some other language around it, though she can't say she's ever seen the form of writing before. She flips it and finds an inscription on the back, frowning slightly before tracing it with her finger.

_Piyo_, it says. Or _Biyo_. The first letter has been mangled a little, as if someone was in a hurry to make it.

"That's mine," Soramon titters, squawking and twitching her head intensely.

Bird opens her mouth to apologize and begins to reach out to offer it, but before she makes it halfway a scream pierces the silence that, before Pat and the bird, had drained the camp of all its color. She turns, wide-eyed, to see one of the boys' cabins doors swinging half-open on its hinges, the wood the building's made of dark brown and ominous. "Crap," she hisses under her breath, because she may have never heard that scream before but she's heard the voice behind it, and if Gus has met a talking animal too then they clearly need to sit down and talk about this. She rests her weight on the heels of her palms before shoving herself upwards, giving the bag still on the ground a mangled sigh before throwing it over her arm and taking off in the direction of the boys' cabin.

Soramon watches, frozen in horror but for the wings keeping her afloat. _Her Digivice…!_

"Hey!" she screeches before flapping off after the girl. This is something that has to be fixed, and now.

+x+

Terry arrives just as Taimon is wrapping up his explanation of the other Digimon, and while the younger teen's already naturally wide eyes bug out of his head, Gus immediately directs his attention to the robotic figure that's clanged to a stop next to him. "That's…" He frowns, searching through the recent overload of information he'd been given on the (apparently seven) of them here. "…Izzymon?" he finishes uncertainly.

"Are you another alien?" it replies, voice deadpan and metallic.

"I believe you should let go of your alien theory," Terry frowns, reaching up to adjust his cap as his surprised expression defaults back to neutral. The hunk of metal beside him is vaguely child-shaped and clearly robotic, an array of red buttons littering the otherwise silver material. Where his head should be is what looks to be a computer screen, the background of it white with two pixelated black eyes staring coldly around it and a line for its mouth turning to a squiggle when it speaks. "It could get horribly offensive quickly."

Izzymon's line begins to squirm, but before he gets any actual words out Taimon shouts a joyous "Izzymon!" and bounds forward, headbutting the robot in the stomach and sending it back a few paces before he sheepishly backs up, grinning eagerly at its friend.

Izzymon rubs his stomach. If robots could have expressions, Gus might think it pouting. "I'll assume that was because you're unaccustomed to your Rookie level form and were _not_ intending to physically harm me," Izzymon says wrily, "and it's nice to see you too, Taimon."

"Haha, yeah, sorry about that," Taimon offers with a weak grin. "But hey, that's two of us here! Have you met any of the others?"

Izzymon shakes his robotic head. "My power button was activated when we hit the ground," he buzzes mechanically, gesturing to his left foot. "It was only when Kabuteri discovered me that I was re-activated and became remotely aware of my surroundings, after which, of course, I found you."

"Just Terry," Terry bristles, hand twitching towards his hoodie pocket as though reaching for his iPod before he forcibly draws it back, a grimace dancing across his mouth. He looks over to Gus, eyebrows raised, but the boy can only shrug helplessly. He inwardly beams at his own foresight for kicking the lava lamp pieces under the bed. "There are more of you?"

"Seven of them," Gus says at the same time Taimon says "You have a power button now?" and they both turn to frown at each other.

"Oh!" Izzymon says suddenly, line squiggling higher as his voice pitches up. "I almost forgot, Taimon. Do you want this back yet?" He opens a compartment in his chest and pulls out a small, mechanical device shaped like a square with dips on each of the edges. "If we leave ours together for too long, their combined mechanical fuses as well as my own might overheat them. We're still unaware of how they work, after all." His robotic arm extends towards the horse, the tiny device clutched haphazardly in it before it teeters off the edge and falls.

"I got it," Gus reassures, reaching down to scoop up the tiny game-like machine, shoulder twitching as he stands up straight. He gives it a hard, searching look before turning it over and read the back. "_Agu_?" he ponders aloud, eyes wrinkling at the inscription.

"Isn't your name Augustus?" Terry inquires, eyebrows inching up his forehead. "Perhaps the A-g-u has some relevance to – "

"Your name is _Augustus_?" Taimon demands, hooves rapping on the floor hard enough that Izzymon goes spinning in the opposite direction, his own device clattering out of the compartment. Inching away from the agitated horse, Gus reaches down to examine the next one before, with a scream that seems to reverberate through the entire camp, jumping back. "It _burned_ me!" he shouts, holding his slightly-charred fingers close to his eyes. "Jesus!"

"Curious," Terry mumbles, and before Gus can ward him off the black teen reaches down to grab the device itself – and comes away completely unharmed. He pulls it up, examining it with a frown. "Well, seeing as we've met a talking horse and a robot with a widescreen, it's not too extensive to believe in devices with self-defense mechanisms. I wonder why it only works on some people…?" He flips it over and frowns at the inscription. "_Tento_. My last name is Tent."

"So…" Gus' hand flops uselessly next to him as he examines the letters scratched into his more closely, ignoring the horse-mon romping agitatedly next to him. "They're made for specific people?"

"It appears – " Terry begins before everything seems to come to a stop, his hand suspended in midair from where he'd been gesturing as he spoke. He turns to face to his right, pushing up his yellow cap just enough for his large eyes to be seen beneath the shadows. "Greetings," he says politely to the out-of-breath figure with overlarge bags before him.

"Bird?!" Gus demands.

+x+

The tall teen scratches behind his ear out of awkward habit. "So…you come from the Digital World," he recounts politely, crouching down even further so that he and the creatures before him are on eye level. "And you were brought here by a wave of water. That's the story so far, right?"

The tinier of the two creatures before him could be a cherub if not for the fact that its skin and hair are both green and scaly; the wings that protrude have a contrast of feathers that shed easily and feel like flower petals when touched. "Yup!" it chirps in a voice befitting a child. "And Mattmon thinks that our friends might've been sent here, too, so we're lookin' for them! Have you seen 'em?"

The wolf-like animal fondly rolls its eyes; though much larger than its companion as a whole, it's only an inch or so taller, yellow and green fur alternating in tufts throughout its back and a light blue dusting its muzzle and ears. "The easiest one to find would probably be Taimon," Mattmon says in a voice too serious for his stature. "He's larger than the rest of us and a lot louder. He looks kind of like…" He frowns. "I don't know the name humans use for it."

Gary Tsuno (actually Garuru, but that name is frankly embarrassing) shrugs from his position before them, mouth turning down at the edges as he considers the puzzle. "Do you have any sort of tracking device?" he asks, voice deliberate and almost too soft to be heard. He's a large boy, broad-shouldered and tall, though his bulk and his raspy, whispering voice seem to even each other out, as well as the way he never quite seems to look anyone in the eyes. His jeans and brown belt are both almost entirely covered by a fur coat that drops all the way to his knees, a pattern of white and blue dancing across where it pools on the ground next to where he's crouching. "Or any way to get into contact with them? A phone, perhaps?"

"Well…" Mattmon hesitates, pawing at the ground, but before he can continue there's a low gasp behind them and all three of them whirl to face it. Standing before them is a small boy, clearly Native American, with light orange hair, his mouth gaping open. Mattmon mutters a few choice words under his breath even as Teekaymon stands on his toes and waves at the intruder.

"Hi!" Teekaymon chirps, feathers fluttering slightly in the wind. "Have you seen any Digimon?"

Gary winces; Mattmon eyes a nearby tree trunk as though about to bang his forehead against it. "What he means is," Gary supplies, coming to a full stand, "have you seen any weird-looking animals who talk?"

The child's mouth snaps shut. "You mean…" He manages tentatively. "Like a blue-haired bird?"

"Soramon!" Teekaymon shouts agreeably; the child trembles, taking a step back. The green creature blinks before shrinking, apparently horrified at himself.

"Hey, it's okay," Gary reassures the boy, spurred to sudden action by Mattmon's pleading look. He crouches down again, though he's high enough up to look the child in the eyes, and smiles tenderly. "Nobody here will hurt you, alright? It's okay. I know that they may look weird, but you can trust them." He offers a hand to the boy, who's shaking violently. Gary's momentarily concerned the kid might have a panic attack. "I'm a teenager. I know what I'm doing. It's okay."

The line about being a teenager seems to calm the boy down, and with one final shudder he lapses into utter stillness. "What's your name?" he persuades, careful to keep his face schooled in a friendly expression (not that it's hard).

The ginger child suddenly seems to get a hold of himself, and his chin juts out proudly, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Patrick Pyo," he greets, something almost hopeful flitting upon his eyes.

"I'm Gary – " Gary begins, but before he can get any further Teekaymon has jumped up, wings fluttering slightly. "Patrick?" he demands, eyes blown wide as he pats in a strange, scale-covered pocket in his side that Gary immediately chooses never to think about again. "Is it spelled like this?" he asks, pulling out what looks like a tiny gaming device and flipping it over to the side without a screen, where _Pata_ is displayed in proud cursive.

"Not exactly, but it's pretty close!" Patrick says, brightening quickly as he pads forward and takes the device that Teekaymon immediately proffers to him, despite Mattmon chewing irritably on his lip and inching closer to the base of the tree. The small boy examines it thoroughly before pressing down on all of the buttons at once, face lighting up as the screen springs to life.

"What – " Gary blinks. "That's a map of camp!" It's not a particularly good map; the buildings are represented only by squares, the nearby forest is a bunch of triangles, and the graphics seem like something from a Pokémon game for the Game Boy Advance rather than anything remotely recent, but on it beep seven red dots, each lighting up angrily against the grey background. "Patrick – or, um, Teekaymon – may I please see this for a moment?"

"Sure!" Patrick and Teekaymon chirp identically, and Gary reaches out to grab it only to reel away in shock, mouth an _o_ of surprise. His fingers seem to smoke at the tips, and he stumbles back, falling on his ass as he begins to blink tears in his eyes and angry red burn marks pattern across his palm. Patrick blinks, glancing from the device to Gary and back, and Teekaymon watches on, covering his eyes in horror.

"Gary!" Mattmon growls, dashing over and taking up a defensive stance next to him. "Are you alright? What happened? Is your hand…" It trails off in a startling scowl, teeth bared at an imaginary enemy. "It's burnt! Who did it? The only Digimon at camp who uses fire to attack is Taimon, and he's not around…"

"It was…" He gestures to Patrick's hand. "The…thing. The device." He stares blankly at the small boy before him, cogs in his brain turning. Why did it burn him and not Patrick? How did it have a map of camp? How did Teekaymon get a hold of it in the first place? His brow furrowed.

Suddenly, after a long moment of tense silence, the quiet smile replaced his speculative expression, and he was once again unreadable. "It's fine, Mattmon," he reassures, reaching back with his unhurt palm and pushing himself to a stand, wincing slightly. The wolf gives him a suspicious glance. "Really," he emphasizes, and Mattmon reluctantly lets his stance fall, pawing idly behind his ear. "We'll just have to figure out without me touching it." He peers over Patrick's shoulder this time, keeping a careful distance. "There are two red dots about where we are…" He turns to Mattmon. "Do all of you have these devices?"

Mattmon hesitates for a long moment before nodding. "They fell out of the sky before we came here," he admits, tucking his chin at a particularly stiff patch of fur that could easily hide something so small. "We don't know what they're for…"

"Well, if I'm right, they're able to track each other," Gary analyzes, cocking his head. "If I'm not right, then it's the only lead we've got. We should try to find the other red dots."

Teekaymon brightens. "We're gonna find the others!" he cheers, throwing up his arms in victory. Patrick grins widely at him and the two grab hands, dancing around in victory. Even Mattmon cracks a small smile.

The ground beneath them rumbles, and Mattmon's smile falls immediately, both he and Gary looking up sharply. At the very edge of the forest, just barely within their line of sight, a ghostly figure emerges – silvery, glimmering faintly in the light, and translucent, it clicks its pincers. A giant bug, Gary realizes. It's the ghost of a giant bug.

Gary stares for a moment. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, shouts "HOW ABOUT NO," and grabs the hand that Pat isn't holding the device in, making a mad dash across the camp, the Digimon following behind him.

+x+

**A/N:**

wow so this took like 8 weeks longer than i thought it would the actual reasoning for that is that i abruptly decided i only wanted each "episode" to last 2 chapters so i decided i had to write like 8 pages for this chapter

which i did and the episode's STILL not over so sorry episode 1 will be 3 chapters long THEN episodes will be 2 chapters long

almost all of the characters have been introduced now, which was kind of the chapter goal, and tailmon/gatomon was mentioned in passing so WOOP. and hey, i got a review for the first chapter! thats pretty goddamn exciting, guys. im super pumped for this story.


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